


Lovesick

by SpaceCadetGlow



Category: Watchmen - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Dysfunctional Relationships, Fluff, M/M, Romance, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-08
Updated: 2015-11-08
Packaged: 2018-04-30 16:37:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5171423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpaceCadetGlow/pseuds/SpaceCadetGlow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rolf is sick and Nelson takes care of him, despite Rolf's protestations.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lovesick

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for the Watchmen kinkmeme, which exists in its current iteration here: http://watchmen-km.dreamwidth.org/287.html. If you enjoy this fic, please leave a comment; feedback makes my day!

It started with a runny nose, on a cold night in November. Rolf was in the habit of drinking a hearty cocktail of vitamins, proteins, and fiber every morning, and now he guzzled them down throughout the day, knowing he had to keep his immune system as strong as he was. But he wasn't worried – he hadn't gotten sick since he caught the measles when he was ten years old. He did, however, get some satisfaction out of glaring at the bearded lady as she coughed and sneezed all over the Sackson and Shanley's dressing tent. It served her right; the stage glue she used to attach her facial hair was probably toxic. It was nothing that could affect the “European Powerhouse,” who could hold a cannon on his shoulders. He was above such petty things as disease.

Except that the runny nose was soon joined by a nasty cough, and it was extremely inconvenient to go on patrol with his face covered. Once or twice, he was forced to pull up his mask to wipe at his face so he didn't swallow his own mucus, and it didn't help his pride that he had to ask Nelson for a handkerchief.

“You should have told me you weren't feeling well,” Nelson simpered, touching Rolf's arm sympathetically. Rolf yanked it away from him and turned to face the wall of a nearby building; he couldn't compromise his identity, and that was hard to do when he had to blow his nose, and his casual sex partner ( _not_ boyfriend, no matter what Nelly liked to tell himself) wouldn't get out of his face.

“I'm fine. Just a cold,” Rolf told him, pulling his hood back down and tossing the soiled handkerchief in a nearby trash can. 

Nelson looked at him reproachfully. “That was real silk, you know. You're _supposed_ to wash them.”

“No pockets,” he said, and began stalking down the street once more, a hulking terror to the criminals of New York – a hulking terror who promptly began hacking all over the inside of his hood.

“Let me take you home,” Nelson said, catching up to him. “You need to rest!”

Rolf groaned. He liked Nelson well enough, but sometimes he could be incredibly irritating. “Shut _up_ , Metropolis! What are you, some kind of nurse?” He lowered his voice in case anyone was listening, but his tone was no less intense. “You like some sick things, but that's one fantasy I'm not going to entertain.” 

Nelson's eyes widened for a moment, then dropped to stare at the ground. “Sorry for caring,” he mumbled. Wonderful, now Nelson was going to pull his hurt puppy act and try to make Rolf feel bad for wanting to be treated like a grown man. It wasn't going to work. He simply started walking again, and two seconds later, he heard Nelson's quick footfalls behind him. Just as expected. 

They finished sweeping the neighborhood without much incident or conversation, and by the time Rolf got out of the shower at Headquarters, Nelson had already gone home.

~*~*~*~*~

When Rolf woke up the next morning, his throat was dry and scratchy, and it hurt like hell to swallow. It also felt unusually warm in his bedroom, and he kicked the blankets off in disgust and began to do his morning exercises. He was fine with stretching, but when he began his first set of push-ups, he noticed his arms aching. He must have slept funny, he rationalized, and blamed the sudden chills on a drafty window. 

Nelson was there waiting for him at Headquarters that evening, with a pack of paper tissues that Rolf scoffed at but didn't turn down. 

~*~*~*~*~

It was on the third day of this indignity that Rolf finally had to admit that he was ill. Sackson and Shanley only put on shows on Fridays, Saturdays, and Wednesdays – it was Monday, so he didn't have to worry about missing work. Missing patrol, however, was a bigger issue. Not only was it not like him, he was certain that Nelson would sit in Headquarters all night, worrying himself sick if Hooded Justice didn't show up. Rolf hated being tied down like that, having to answer to another person, but such was the price of a warm, willing body underneath him after a tough night cleaning the streets. Nelson was a good man and a worthy partner as well as a good fuck; Rolf wouldn't have bothered with him if he wasn't. He only ever got angry with Nelson because he made him—

No. He couldn't think that way, he told himself, echoes of his father's voice ringing in his ears. “I'm better than him,” he said aloud, the consonants dulled from congestion, as he made his way to the telephone in the hall. He tried calling the phone at Headquarters, but no one was there to pick it up at twelve in the afternoon. All he wanted to do was go back to bed and sleep until he felt better, probably straight through to morning, but he had to let Nelson know he'd be staying in tonight. He didn't have the number, so he bit the bullet, dialing zero and asking the operator to put him through to Nelson Gardner. 

“Hello?” They'd never spoken on the phone before, but there was no mistaking that earnest voice.

“Good afternoon, Nelson.”

An uncertain pause, then, “H.J.? Is that you?”

“I thought I should inform you that I won't be joining you on patrol tonight,” he said. 

“You poor thing, are you still feeling sick?”

He could tell that Nelson was about thirty seconds away from coming over with a pot of chicken soup, so he firmly said, “The sooner I rest, the sooner I can get better. I'll call you when I'm ready to come back,” and hung up. He took a painkiller, which helped with the muscle aches, but he still couldn't seem to get comfortable in his bed – first he was too hot, then too cold. He drifted in and out of sleep peppered with feverish dreams. 

~*~*~*~*~

He is at the circus, a familiar place but not under familiar circumstances. He's been wedged into the cannon, held up effortlessly on the shoulders of a long-legged woman in a sparkling letoard. He can't move anything except his head, but he barely needs to turn because dead ahead are all of the Minutemen, seated in a long, solemn row. 

The Comedian has one arm wrapped around Silk Spectre, grinning stupidly. She is expressionless and her eyes are dull, and she leans against Eddie's shoulder like a limp doll. Nite Owl tries to engage her in cheerful conversation anyway. Mothman smiles shyly at Dollar Bill and begins to flap his giant yellow wings until he rises out of his seat and hovers there, giggling madly while Bill grabs to pull him down. Captain Metropolis is nervously eating popcorn, and Rolf can tell he's terrified of what's going to happen when the cannon goes off. Silhouette rolls her eyes and knocks the bucket of popcorn out of his hands. She turns to him, and he can hear her serious voice as clear as a bell ringing through the din of the crowd: “You're nothing but a pair of cowards. Both of you, and it makes me sick.”

There is a sudden bang, the crowd swells with the gasp of awe and anticipation that he knows so well, and his feet are uncomfortably warm. It begins as a tingling heat, but before long he realizes he's burning, because the cannon has fired but he's stuck in there, too big to have been shot out. It's almost too overwhelming to process; it hurts more than when he burned his arms and legs from shame. Nelson is screaming “No, no!” and Silhouette seizes him by the shoulders and shouts, “What difference does it make? Now you can go back to hiding!” and the Comedian laughs and lays a sloppy kiss on Silk Spectre's neck, and Mothman is still flying around like an idiot. It's so loud, between the taunts and screams of the roaring audience, and incessant clanging noises that he can't place. He must be imagining it, his brain must be shutting down...

He awoke with a gasp, but the clanging didn't stop. He had suspicions about what was going on, and managed to pull on most of his costume – shirt, leggings, and most importantly, hood – before he went to investigate.

~*~*~*~*~

Something in the direction of his kitchen smelled tantalizing, and he followed the scent with sleepy footsteps. He now realized that was where the noises from his dream were coming from – the clangs of pots and pans, the thunks of a chef's knife, the bangs of cabinet doors. He already put it together before he rounded the corner into the kitchen, so it was hardly a surprise when he saw Nelson standing there, fussing over a steaming pot. Rolf cleared his throat, and Nelson dropped the wooden spoon into the pot. It made yet another loud clang, and Nelson winced at the noise.

“I'm sorry,” he said immediately. “I didn't mean to wake you.” He was dressed in civilian clothes, something Rolf rarely saw – simple beige slacks and a dark green shirt, but the outfit was flattering, even when it was speckled with droplets of soup. Nelson's face was apprehensive, as if he might flee at the wrong word. “I was just going to make it and leave it for you. I know you wanted some space...” He stirred the soup, quickly evaluating it. “This is just about done. All you have to do is let it simmer until the vegetables are cooked.” He plucked his jacket from the back of a chair.

Rolf noticed all the items of cookware in his kitchen – pots and knives he certainly didn't own. “You brought all of this over?”

Nelson's jaw was set in the way that meant he was holding his emotions down until he could get away from the situation. “I know it's a mess. I'll come clean it all up tomorrow.”

Rolf couldn't exactly sniff the air, his nose was too stuffed up, but he tried anyway as he peered into the pot. There were chicken, carrots, celery, macaroni, and what appeared to be chunks of potato floating in the steaming broth. “This looks delicious.”

“My mother used to make it,” Nelson said, buttoning the jacket up. “Michigan winters are brutal.” Rolf turned to look at him, all outward appearances showing a perfect image of calm. Rolf knew better than that, though, and all of this was a nice gesture. Predictable, but nice.

“You seem to handle brutality pretty well.” Rolf leaned back against the counter. He, too, was trying to look much more casual than he felt. “Better than you should have to.”

Nelson eyed him, suddenly looking suspicious. Rolf didn't blame him. “Is that an apology?”

He truly was sorry for the things he had said a few nights ago. He just wasn't good at saying it. Nelson understood him better than most, though – or so he hoped. “It's me saying I don't mind you being here.”

The other man laughed without humor. “Yeah. You're just saying that because I cooked for you. You know, another thing my mother used to do was tell my sisters a man would put up with anything in a woman as long as she could cook.”

“What does that have to do with you?” The corner of Nelson's mouth twitched, but otherwise he refused to respond to the joke. “I mean it. I appreciate this.”

Finally, Nelson's expression softened. “I'm glad to hear that,” he said. “You really mean a lot to me.” He began to say something else, but trailed off and smiled brightly instead. “Why don't you get back to bed, and I'll bring you some soup once it's ready? It's just about dinner time anyway.” He unbuttoned his jacket and threw it back over the chair as Rolf nodded. 

He made his way back to his room, feeling somewhat silly sliding back under the covers in costume. If Nelson stayed, it was going to be difficult to keep his identity private. They had only been here together once before, and that one time, Rolf had given Nelson directions and told him to come later so he'd have time to hide anything identifiable. There was probably mail sitting on the table by the front door, maybe even pay stubs from the circus. Nelson could know everything about him by now. He wouldn't be surprised if Nelson wanted to snoop; Nelson had asked for his real name and to see his face exactly once each, and Rolf had quickly assured him that that was not something he would get to know. Just because Nelson hadn't asked again didn't mean he wasn't curious. He groaned and sank back against his pillow, wondering if he could get any more foolish. It had to be the fever.

~*~*~*~*~

He was still wearing his hood when Nelson came in, holding a large bowl on a plate. “Dinner is served,” Nelly announced, surveying him in amusement. “What are you going to do about that hood? I already know you have a nice beard under there.”

Rolf thought about it. Of course Nelson would have felt his beard underneath the hood. And it was only part of his face; it wouldn't be the end of the world for Nelson to see it, especially when the man was doing something nice for him. He pushed and rolled at the thick fabric until it settled on top of his nose. Nelson waited until he was sitting up comfortably to hand him the bowl. There were even a few crackers neatly lined up on the plate next to a soup spoon. Rolf didn't own any soup spoons.

Nelly watched with charmingly eager eyes as Rolf tried the soup. It was quite salty, and the vegetables were too soft, but it tasted fine. Rolf nodded approvingly even before he swallowed. “It's good,” he said, crumbling the crackers into it. “Thank you.” 

Nelson beamed. “Anytime. There's plenty left, I'll leave it on the stove for you.” There was little else for him to do, so he pulled a chair over and sat next to the bed while Rolf ate. For a few minutes, there was almost complete silence. Nelson just smiled faintly at him, and Rolf was glad he had the soup to eat so he didn't have to try and start a forced conversation.

“Oh,” Nelson said. “The mail came.” Rolf recognized the way he said it – the way that was supposed to make him think Nelson had just had that thought, when more likely he'd been fretting over it for the last ten minutes. Rolf glared at the other man, who spoke again, quickly. “I just put it in a drawer in the kitchen. I didn't look at it,” he assured. “I didn't see your name. But I can bring it to you, if you want.”

He believed him. Nelson was clingy, and needy, and had all kinds of issues that Rolf didn't even want to touch on, but he was perpetually honest. “Thank you for respecting my wishes,” he said, reaching out with one large hand to clasp Nelly's for a moment. “Maybe I'll take a look at it later.” Nelson just nodded, and when Rolf let go, he withdrew his hand to his lap, and covered it with the other one.

“Is there anything else I should know?” Nelson asked softly. “To avoid?”

“Just the mail. And please don't go in that closet,” Rolf said in answer, gesturing at the bedroom closet. He had some of his circus costumes in there, body stockings and tight shorts and ridiculous prints to be stretched and draped over his muscles. “There are things for my job in there.”

“I promise. I don't want to go and upset you again,” he said, his voice perfectly level, and not bitter in the least. Nelson was good at covering things up, had practically made a lifestyle out of it, but he never could fool Rolf. Nelly never let anything go that easily. “Are you done with that? Can I get you more?”

Rolf passed the bowl into Nelson's waiting hands. “Not right now. It was very nice, though. I think I'd like to get back to sleep.”

“Of course.” Nelson leaned forward and reached with his free hand towards Rolf's hood; instinctively, Rolf knocked his hand away. “Relax, H.J.,” Nelson frowned. “If you don't know that you can trust me by now...” He pressed a hand against Rolf's forehead, feeling for his temperature through the thick cloth. “Oh, goodness, you're burning up! Wait just a minute.” He scurried out of the room, and returned quickly with a damp washcloth. 

“Put this on your forehead,” he said, handing it over to Rolf. “I thought I'd just take the couch for the night, if that's alright.” Rolf didn't have the heart to tell him no, so he told him it was fine, bringing a smile to Nelson's face. “I won't peek in in the night, or anything. If I need to come in, I'll knock, and you can tell me to come in once you've got your hood on. Just promise me you won't try and sleep in it, you'll only make your fever worse.”

“I know,” said Rolf. Nelson really was looking out for him, as overbearing as he could be... and Rolf could appreciate that. “Sleep well, Nelly.”

“You too,” Nelson answered, and didn't break his gentle gaze until the door was shut behind him.

~*~*~*~*~

_Knock, knock, knock._

Rolf drowsily opened his eyes and rolled over in the direction of the door.

_Knock, knock, knock, knock._ “H.J.?”

He groaned softly to himself. What time was it? Didn't Nelson know that sick people needed rest?

“H.J., are you okay in there? Hello?” Nelson sounded like he was going to bust an artery if he didn't hear an answer soon, so Rolf propped himself up and felt around for his hood, there on the nighttable.

“Just a minute!” He tried to yell, but it came out as a forceless grating sound that turned into a coughing fit. Once the hacking subsided, he slipped his hood on and prepared to be looked after, whether he liked it or not. “Alright, you can come in now.”

Nelson opened the door. “All clear?” Upon seeing Rolf lying in bed, wearing the same parts of his costume as last night, he grinned and bounded over. “Well, doesn't this make a funny picture?” he commented, crossing his arms across his chest amusedly. “Why are you wearing all that, anyway? I get the hood, but the rest... imagine what the papers would say to see the dreaded Hooded Justice all laid up in bed.”

Rolf scowled, not that Nelson could see it. “Yes, and imagine what they'd say to hear that Captain Metropolis likes getting fucked by the dreaded Hooded Justice. Front-page news, I'd say.”

The other man immediately frowned. “That's not funny and you know it.” He looked around briefly, sighed, and continued. “Look, I'm sorry for waking you, but the phone's been ringing off the hook for the last half hour. I didn't pick it up, but I figured it had to be important. Were you expecting a call?”

“No,” said Rolf, wondering who exactly it was. Someone from the circus, perhaps? “What time is it?”

Nelson glanced at his watch. “A little after one. You slept pretty well, huh?”

“Better than last night,” he answered lightly. “Someone was banging around in my kitchen.” Nelson easily could have missed his joking tone, but they had spent enough time together that Nelly cracked a smile. “But it all turned out fine. He ended up making me dinner.”

“Sounds like a nice guy.” Nelson's defensiveness had melted away again, and now he watched Rolf relaxedly as he got out of bed. “Should I be jealous?”

“Hmm, maybe.” Rolf squeezed Nelson's shoulder for a moment, and then carefully stretched. Arms out, then up, then down to touch his toes. His muscles still felt sore and achy, and this time he wasn't about to write it off as having slept strangely. Maybe if he kept being nice to Nelson, he could convince him to give him a massage later. “What have you been doing this morning? Don't you have a job to go to?”

“Don't you?” Nelson replied quickly. Rolf cocked his head at him. “No, I don't,” he admitted. “I consider fighting crime to be my job now. It was much too taxing to work all day and then beat people up all night, anyway.”

“What _have_ you been doing, then?” Rolf asked, heading out of the bedroom towards the kitchen. 

“I've been keeping busy.” Nelson followed behind him. “I read the paper, listened to the radio for a little bit. Then I realized your kitchen was abysmally stocked, so I went grocery shopping.”

As Rolf entered the kitchen, he saw that Nelson hadn't been kidding. Usually he kept plenty of food in the house (since saying he ate a lot was an understatement), but between feeling ill and a sheer lack of opportunity to get to the store, the cabinets had gotten sadly bare. “Thank you,” he said, and he meant it. “I would have been reduced to eating out of cans until I wasted away to nothing.”

“I don't think that could ever happen,” Nelson chuckled. “Would you like some orange juice? Lots of vitamins.” _Ring, ring,_ went the phone in the hall. “There they are again; you'd better get it this time.”

Rolf made his way to the telephone, almost forgetting to lift his hood up before answering. “Hello?”

“Rolf! Finally! It's Greta. I've been tryin' to reach you for almost an hour now.” Greta was the assistant to the circus' manager, Frank. Frank almost never spoke to Rolf directly, not since the incident between them a couple of years ago, and that was just as well. 

“Sorry. What is it?”

“Here's the thing. Your girl, Ylena, she twisted her ankle or somethin'. So Tina, y'know, the elephant handler, said she'd help you out with your act tomorrow night, but she wants to practice with you sometime before that. Can you come in today? Around 4, maybe?”

He glanced quickly around the hallway. Nelson was still in the kitchen; he could hear him humming to himself as he moved around. “Actually, I was going to call you myself. I'm not feeling well. I won't be coming in tomorrow.”

“You?” Greta's voice was skeptical. “I thought you didn't get sick.”

“So did I,” Rolf said crossly. “You can blame Carlotte for hacking up her lungs all over the dressing room while she puts her damn beard on.”

A second or two of silence, then, “Alright. But we're going to have to dock your pay, 'kay?”

“Fine. I'll call when I'm better.” He put down the receiver none too gently, and yanked his hood back down. Nelly was still humming something march-like to himself when Rolf returned to the kitchen.

“So how about that juice?” Nelson asked again. He already had two glasses ready, set beside a full pitcher.

“I know something better,” Rolf said, and began pulling things out of the cabinets to make his “cocktail”. Nelson shrugged and poured himself a tall glass of orange juice, then leaned back against the counter and watched Rolf work. 

“That doesn't look very appetizing,” he commented as Rolf topped it all off with a raw egg and gave it a good stir.

“It makes you strong. Keeps you sharp.” He rolled his hood back up just enough – that was getting tiring – and took a long sip. “Would you like to try some?”

“Er... alright,” said Nelson. Rolf eyed him sharply as he sipped cautiously at the drink. An instant later, Nelson made a face and handed the glass back. “That's awful!”

“It's an acquired taste. You understand,” said Rolf, drawing a small, only slightly self-conscious grin from the other man.

It wasn't long before Nelson insisted that Rolf needed to rest, and ushered him over to the sofa. They sat listening to a news program on the radio, next to each other but not touching. Nelson had been carefully docile since Rolf had snapped at him this morning, and while the sentiment of wanting to make him happy was nice, it made Rolf feel guilty again. He remembered Mutti walking on eggshells around his father, the bruises fresh on her skin even as she cheerfully cared for her son, too young to understand. When he was small, the absence of fighting had been a relief. When he grew older, he came to understand that nothing had been solved, and when his father's temper flared again and his mother's patience wore thin, it would be that much worse.

He slid a hand over to rest on Nelson's thigh.

~*~*~*~*~

Long past midnight, Rolf awoke in a cold sweat, his ragged breaths cutting through the silence of his bedroom. He had to get to the bathroom.

He only just made it, stumbling out the door and down the hall to the toilet, with barely seconds to spare before his stomach decided to empty itself. One, two, three heaves, and he collapsed back against the cool tile wall. His head felt clearer, and only now did he notice that the long-sleeved shirt of his costume was soaked through with sweat. He moved to pull it off, it was silly to sleep in it anyway—

“H.J.? Are you alright?” Rolf only had a moment to realize that his hood was back on the nightstand, far out of reach, before Nelson rounded the corner into the doorway of the bathroom, still slightly dazed from sleep. He paused a moment, taking in the dual surprises of Rolf's face, and his obvious signs of illness. “Oh, oh gosh, you poor thing!” He crouched down beside him, first flushing the toilet, then peering anxiously into Rolf's face. “Are you done, do you think? Can I get you some water?”

Rolf withdrew from Nelson's hands, began climbing to his feet, and pushed the other man away. Nelson stumbled back, grabbing onto the sink to stay upright. The prying idiot was never supposed to see his face, let alone like this. “Out!” he shouted, still dizzy and all the more angry because of it. Through his hazy vision, he could still see Nelson staring with wide eyes. “I said _out_!” 

Nelson fled.

No sound at all came from the direction of the living room or the kitchen; just thick, doleful silence. His head clear of nausea but now swimming with something else, Rolf snatched the soapdish from the sink and hurled it to the floor, where it smashed into several large pieces and uncountable smaller slivers. Without thinking, he drove his bare heel down onto the biggest piece, the small crunch coming just before the sharp pain. He bellowed in pain and anger, then ripped the chunk of stained porcelain from his heel and willed himself to be calm. 

He leaned over the sink, head in his hands, and imagined Nelson in the living room, terrified. He should go to him and apologize. Again.

The loud slam of the apartment door crushed the thought in an instant. Too late.

Rolf brought his fist down on the sink with all the strength he had, his shout again echoing in the small room. His stomach churched, and he doubled over the sink and threw up for a second time, purging his insides but not his guilt. His hands clutched the sink like it was his last support for this side of sanity, his foot still throbbed, and unwelcome voices echoed in his ears. He was no better than his father after all. All he knew was violence and anger, and if he wasn't taking it out on criminals – or himself, as the scars he'd never let Nelson see attested – then he was taking it out on the people he was supposed to care for the most. They didn't deserve it. Nelson didn't deserve it. 

It seemed inevitable that things would continue down this path until one of them simply couldn't take it anymore. Was there even a point in dragging it out until they reached that point? It might be kinder to let it end now. Rolf sighed. Perhaps it was inevitable. But if he knew Nelson (which he did, very well, even if he didn't like admitting it), then Nelson wanted him to come after him. And if he wanted him to come find him, then he would go to a place where Hooded Justice knew well: Minutemen Headquarters.

He needed gauze, a fresh costume, and a lot of luck.

~*~*~*~*~

Of course, the first person he ran into upon arriving was Mothman, loitering outside the locker room door. 

“H.J.,” the winged man said, with a half-polite nod. 

“Is Metropolis around?”

“Hmm,” said Mothman thoughtfully. “I think he's in his office. Bill said he saw him go in there, but that was a little while ago.” Rolf nodded and began to turn down the hall, but Mothman called after him. “Bill also said he looked upset. That wouldn't be your fault, would it?”

Rolf was sorely tempted to turn back around and beat some respect into the little faggot. He realized, though, that there were more important things at hand – and also that any unnecessary physical activity might have him running for the nearest toilet or wastebasket again. Ignoring the way Mothman's eyes followed him down the hall, he reached Nelson's door and knocked briskly. When there was no response, he tried the doorknob and found it locked.

“Nelson, it's me. Open the door,” he commanded loudly. While that tone might have gotten Nelson to do anything he wanted in the bedroom, he was only answered by the distinct sound of someone blowing his nose inside. “Nelson!” he repeated, and pounded on the door again. Mothman, goddamn him, was still watching from down the hall, leaning easily against the wall with a smirk on his face. “I'm not fooling around, Nelly, open up!” He raised his hand again, but before he could bang on the door, it swung open.

Nelson's eyes were reddened, but they met Rolf's no less defiantly than they would have any criminal on the street. “What do you want?” He kept his body in the doorway and his hand on the knob.

“Can I come in?” 

“What for?” Nelson asked. “I don't know what you possibly could have to say to me.” 

Rolf sighed in exasperation, then lowered his voice. “How about 'I'm sorry'?”

That gave Nelson pause. He turned his back and took a few steps into the room, not exactly inviting Rolf in, but allowing him to enter nevertheless. “Shut the door, would you?” Only when the door was closed and locked did he turn around. “So is this how it's going to be?” he said tiredly. “You'll treat me like garbage, make some half-hearted apology, and I'll forgive you because I'm—” He stopped and inhaled raggedly. “Shit.” Rolf had never heard Nelson swear before. He collapsed down onto the couch, his head in his hands, and Rolf was quick to sit beside him. He thought that putting an arm around Nelson's shoulders might be appropriate, but it didn't seem welcome.

Nelson lowered his hands and shook his head wearily. “I don't know what I was expecting. Not even just from you, just... ever.” Rolf raised an eyebrow, prompting him to continue. “Thinking that I could have any kind of real relationship... you know, as close to a normal one as I could get. What a damned idiot I am.”

Placing his hand on Nelson's knee, Rolf hoped he wouldn't pull away. He didn't. “You deserve all of that.”

The sound that Nelson made was close to a laugh, self-deprecating and not reaching his eyes. “I don't. If I deserved it, I wouldn't ask to get beaten around. I wouldn't be... the way I am.” 

“Nelly,” said Rolf. It hurt to hear him say these words, which weren't too far off from thoughts he'd had himself. “We can't help the way we are.”

“Well, I wish _you_ could,” Nelson said fiercely, meeting his gaze with eyes that threatened to spill over again. “Do you want to know why I put up with being treated like this for so long?” Rolf nodded, and wondered if he should keep his mask on or not. “Because you're the first person I've been comfortable to be myself with. You make me feel okay about the way I am, when you're not treating me like I'm mud on your boots.” Nelson blinked once, twice, and tears began to fall. “You're the first person who didn't make me feel like a freak. That's how it used to be, anyway. Now, I try and show you that I care about you, and you just push me away.” The blond man looked truly miserable, the tears leaving small wet spots on his civilian clothes. Underneath their costumes and masks, they were just men.

Purple-gloved hands quickly worked at the rope around his neck, and loosened it enough to pull off his hood. Rolf took Nelson's face in those same hands, and for the first time, let the other man see his face without a trace of anger. Nelson said nothing, but his face tightened suddenly and a fresh wave of tears burst forth.

“Hush, don't,” Rolf said, stroking his thumbs along Nelson's cheeks. “You have nothing to be ashamed of. It's my fault. Mine, not yours, understand?” 

Nelson raised his eyes and stopped trembling long enough to nod. He sniffled loudly, then drew a long, shaky breath. “You're... why would you hide this from me?” He brushed Rolf's face with all the gentleness that Rolf had never shown him.

“I'm sorry. I should have trusted you.” Rolf pulled his tearstained hands away, clasping Nelson's hands tightly. He wanted Nelson to know that he never wanted to be like that to him, that he always later regretted every hurtful thing he said, but he couldn't find the words. He was never any good at that, and so instead he said, “My name is Rolf Müller. I should have told you that a long time ago.” Nelson smiled, and thank God for that.

“Rolf,” he said softly, reverently, and then he said it again, and then he lunged forward for their first kiss. The sweet warmth of Nelson's mouth against his own was marked with the danger of intimacy, but he chose to pull the blond man closer to him. The choice was always there for him to make; he didn't have to be anything he didn't want to be.

Except for being sick, he thought ironically, for as he pulled back to breathe, he had to turn his head away to cough. When the noise subsided, Nelson was regarding him thoughtfully.

“If I take you home and make sure you get to bed, promise you won't get upset?” It was said almost lightly, but was really anything but. 

Giving Nelson's hand a quick squeeze, he answered. “I promise.”

“Well, then.” Nelson dabbed at his face with a handkerchief, stuffed it in his pocket, and stood up, completely composed save for the slight puffiness in his eyes. “I'd rather we go out the back way, if you don't mind. Bill was hanging around before, and I don't want anyone else to see me like this.”

“Fine by me,” said Rolf, pulling his hood back on.

“Wonderful.” Nelson smiled tentatively over his shoulder. “Let's get you home, Rolf Müller.” The door gently clicked shut behind them.


End file.
